


Of Needles

by Skull_Bearer



Series: Needles [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skull_Bearer/pseuds/Skull_Bearer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From this prompt in the kinkmeme:</p><p>AU where everyone’s born Dominant or Submissive</p><p>Once a Dominant and Submissive pair is born, they are linked to each other, no matter how far apart they are. This link doesn’t actually tell the Dom or the Sub each other’s thoughts, but it does allow them to know how the other’s doing and serves as a reassurance that there’s someone meant for them out there.</p><p>Another one of the reasons that Erik hates Shaw so badly is because Shaw managed to break Erik’s link to his Sub. Now Erik doesn’t even know if his Sub’s alive because breaking a link like that can kill a Submissive.</p><p>Meanwhile, Charles hates himself for not yet having telepathy strong enough to contact and help his Dom, especially after feeling the pain his Dom was forced to go through. He truly believes that his Dominant is dead. Hopes it, some nights when he remembers how his Dom was forced to suffer. It’s better than to think of his Dom still being forced to bear that pain.</p><p>And then Charles pulls Erik from the water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Needles

                "Really, it's doing you both a favour," The needle presses against the back of Erik's neck, the weak place between vertebra and skull. "What good would you be to anyone? If you couldn't even protect your own family, what good would you be to a sub? He'd be better off dead than in your hands." Schmitt hasn't pressed the needle in yet, standing back and watching Erik thrash and try and twist away from the hard glass tip. There isn't a scrap of metal in the room.

 

                Erik pulls up against the straps so hard he could barely breath, and still can't escape the light brush of the needle. He can feel the other boy in his mind, frantic and _pushing_ as though he wanted to climb into Erik's mind completely through their link before Schmitt destroyed it.

 

                "And you, such a distraction makes you weak. Such potential as you have, and you'd prefer to squander it on these silly human games. Oh my boy, that won't do now will it?" Schmitt bends down beside him, only inches away. Erik tries to twist his head away, anything not to look at him. The straps hold him in place.

 

                "Please." The words feel like barbed wire, taste like surrender.

 

                Schmitt and his people took everything from him, everyone. Why should this be different? The warm presence he'd felt in his mind since he could remember, the reminder that he wasn't alone, that there was someone out there waiting for him. That there might be something after this. Something, someone worth living for. Erik had though, foolishly perhaps, that because where ever the boy might be, he was out of Schmitt's reach, that he might be able to keep him.

 

                Foolish.

 

                "Now, why are you begging? Why do you care? Have you met this boy? Why do you want a snivelling, dependant brat clinging to you forever, when there is so much you can accomplish? Weakness." He taps Erik on the forehead, and the needle digs in a little. "Is what we are getting rid of here."

 

                The boy, Erik doesn't know his name, but can feel the shape of him in his mind, a completeness beyond the need for names, is screaming, wherever he is, and trying to project comfort as he had for so many starving nights in the ghetto, and days in Schmitt's laboratory. Erik's breathing shudders and he can't stop the tears.

 

                Schmitt tuts, "One day, you'll understand, my boy." He presses the needle in.

 

                The link shatters in white and tearing and so much pain. The metal of the camp screams in Erik's voice.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

                "Again?" Raven's at his door, leaning against it. With the light behind her, Charles can't see what shape she's wearing.

 

                He rubs his face, still damp. She walks over to the bed and climbs in, putting an arm around his shoulders. Charles lets her pull him in and closes his eyes, trying to block out the sense of the huge great terrifying world he is alone in now. More tears slip free.

 

                Raven doesn't say anything, just squeezing his shoulder, but he can hear her thoughts, unformed, being glad that she's not him. Alone, a telepath with a connection to every mind but the one which matters the most. After all this time, the irony grates painfully.

 

                "You couldn't have done anything." Raven's done this routine a thousand times since - Since. She knows the script.

 

                Charles' line is to say he could have tried, could have done more to save the boy who'd been his other half since they were born, could have gone to Germany or wherever it was, could have- could have- and then Raven would shoot down his arguments and try and comfort him.

 

                Charles is so sick of the script.

 

                "I know." He'd been a child, they'd both been children. "I tried."

 

                "I know you did." Raven had been the first to find him, trashing and screaming on the floor and going into shock. It had been her who'd woken his mother and Kurt, and phoned an ambulance. He would have died without her. He'd hated her for that for a long time, when he'd seen the pitying looks from the doctors and other patients when they realised what had happened, their hands going to collars and keepsakes from their partners, glad they were not him.

 

                Coming to England had been the beginning of healing, or as much healing as was possible. He wasn't been alone here. The war had left many bereft, dressed in black and holding tattered mementos from those that had been theirs. The feeling of their grief was soothing, awareness that, in this at least, Charles was not alone.

 

                "We could always-"

 

                Charles shakes his head hard.

 

                "You don't know he's dead."

 

                The pain is as sharp as that first morning, when he'd woken with the fleeting connections of his telepathy and nothing else. "He's dead."

 

                Raven is quiet, rubbing his shoulder, her thoughts a jumbled _it's not fair why Charles of all people_. Her outrage makes Charles give her a poor smile.

 

                "And do you know the worst part?" He hugs his legs, talking to his knees. Raven shakes her head. "I'm glad." His tears are blood-hot. "The things they were doing to him, it - would have been kinder-" his voice fails, and Raven draws him into a hug.

 

                "You're not alone." Charles gives a muffled snort, and Raven brings his head up until she's looking him in the eye. "Not really, you know that. I'll always be there for you."

 

                _It's not the same_. He doesn't need to say it, they both know it's true. And one day Raven will find her other half and it would be the height of selfishness to cheat his sister of out her happiness because he had been robbed of his. She's never said anything to him, but he's seen her searching the faces of the crowds in Oxford for that one woman he's seen in her mind. He crept into her mind once, arguing that the breach of privacy was allowable on behalf of a concerned brother making sure she would be taken care of, and had come away with a sense of the quiet strong presence in Raven's mind, someone who would follow her and be hers while caring for her in turn.

 

                He touches the remains of his link gingerly, it feels like raw flesh and electrified wire, hurt and hurting. He remembers the feeling of that brilliant presence, bright and shining and sharp, like razorblades wrapped in fireworks. The sheer exhilaration of belonging to someone who felt so wonderful.

 

                "Will you be able to sleep? Or do I need to get your thesis and read to you?" It's a poor joke, but Charles smiles.

 

                "I keep wanting to get up and correct it." Charles' work is his. Not to be taken away, and at least there he's more than a pitiful submissive who lost his dominant too early and didn't have the sense to die.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

                Sometimes, Erik feels like he's seeing the world through a window. He can see everything, can speak and act and hurt (oh, can he hurt), but everything is... detached, not quite real. Like being a ghost, except for the anger. There at least, Erik feels alive.

 

                He's still riding the high when he leaves the banker's office, the man's screams still ringing in his ears. Hate at the pathetic, snivelling fool of a human that almost makes Erik glad to be a monster, as long as he is not classed along such refuse, and rage at Schmitt. It's so familiar it feels like an old friend, as comfortable as the metal around him.

 

                The rage is fading as he approaches his rented room, despite his efforts to prolong it. The flames burning out and just leaving ashes, and the dark coldness from which numb detachment is the only escape.

 

                Erik rests his head against his door as he first fumbles with the keys then gives up and orders the door open. The briefcase is dropped on the floor, the coat is left on top of it, and Erik sits on the bed. Control. He hunches up, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes until stars burst. Control. He can't let himself break down. He knows where Schmitt is now, all he needs is a train to the airport, a plane and then he'd be there, in Argentina, and he'd find Schmitt and - and- and Erik really hasn't got that far. Possibly he'd go mad and tear the man to pieces with his bare hands. Or, if he does maintain control, he could give Schmitt a demonstration of just how well he's taught Erik, and turn the rage to a more fitting purpose.

 

                It's not really working. It feel like there's a huge chunk of Erik missing (which there is of course) like someone carved out his chest, front to back, and he's been left with a huge hole through which the wind blows cold.

 

                Focus, control. Come on, get up. Even the sketch he'd done of Schmitt isn't enough to rouse more than a flicker, and when he stands it feels like everything weights several times more than normal.

 

                Sometimes Erik would like nothing better than to lie down and sleep. It's hard to walk when every step hurts. He tries not to think of what happens when it's over, when he's enjoyed Schmitt's last look of terror and avenged the mother he had never bid farewell and the boy he had never held in his arms. There wouldn't be much left then. Schmitt had destroyed almost everything he had, and with his death, Erik would have finished his work.

 

                Erik doesn't wish the world was different. He can't think of a more pointless subject to speculate on, or a more painful one. But sometimes the thoughts creep in anyway, when he's tired and both control and focus, rage and numbness, have failed. The warm whisper in his mind, the quiet love and gentleness Schmitt had destroyed like he had Erik's mother and for even less reason.

 

                The rage returns, Erik takes a deep breath and starts to gather the few things he needs. He has his lead.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

                Charles doesn't drink often. After seeing his mother turn to the bottle after his father died, Charles is not about to repeat her mistake. But tradition is tradition, in Oxford more than anywhere else. He almost collapses into his seat when the young woman invites him, the alcohol making everything pleasantly fuzzy. He suspects Raven is going to fetch him in a moment, before he makes an even bigger fool of himself.

 

                The woman's words shock him sober, quickly focusing to block out the worst of the intoxication and focus on her words.

 

                It all moves quickly after that. It's been a long time since anything's electrified Charles like this, and that's half the reason Raven eventually agrees to accompany McTaggert, just being glad her brother is behaving like her brother again. It's easy to get lost in the enthusiasm, to no longer feel so alone, or so useless. later he'd look back and wonder if he should have seen the warning signs, the barely hidden hostility he'd overlooked in favour of finally being able to _do something_.

 

                The enthusiasm lasted just long enough for Charles to pick up Sebastian Shaw's file, know thy enemy. Whoever Shaw was, it would be up to Charles and Raven to stop him and whoever he was working with.

 

                The name Schmitt makes him shiver, and the references to Auschwitz are enough to make him put down the file. Not this. The excitement is gone, and Charles rubs his face before continuing stubbornly. This man is his enemy, thrice over now. Charles remembers following the Nuremburg trials in '45 and '46, the Nazi hunts in the following years, cumulating in Eichmann's trial last year, it hadn't been much, but it was something knowing justice, however small, had been done, and that the tortured boy he loved might rest more peacefully now.

 

                If Shaw was one of them, then it would be... proper and fitting... for Charles to be the one to stop him. To hand out justice for the one he loved, and have done something of use to him in this life.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

                Erik barely dares to breath, is sure everyone can hear his heart hammering against his ribs. The water makes his grip on the knife slippery, but no matter. It's been so long, and he's so close he can almost taste it. The moment the disaster of his life has been leading to for twenty years. The monster strikes down its maker, and all has come full circle. The fact that the monster in the tale walked into the snow afterwards is not something Erik spares much thought on.

 

                He shifts his grip on the knife as he creeps up towards the voices on deck, the best to let it fly when the right moment came. Rage so focused he can feel each molecule of the metal tremble for his command.

 

                It's not a coin and it's not a glass needle, but killing Shaw with a Nazi blade has its own irony, and right now Erik just wants the monster dead with a fierceness that almost approaches despair.

 

                "Herr doctor."

 

                Erik realises a split moment later that he's made a terrible mistake. His imaginings of this moment had always been modelled on Frankenstein, and the appropriate horror in Shaw's eyes when he discovers his monster has tracked him down at last. There's nothing of that here, just cold amusement, and that voice. It goes straight through Erik like the wind, and for a moment he's twelve and small and scared and alone in his mind for the first time. " _Der kleine Erik Lensherr._ "

 

                He cries out as glass fingers dig through his, like a bond gone horribly wrong, then he's back in the laboratory, and he's watching his mother die Shaw is driving a knife into his arm there's a needle is his brain and he's hearing the boy he should have protected die alonealonealonepainpainpain-

 

                The knife flies almost of its own accord.

 

                The woman turns to diamond when she catches it, and the screaming in Erik's head stops. He is still staring at Schmitt when he's thrown overboard, Shaw who's still smiling like a lion facing a mouse armed with a toothpick.

 

                Erik made a mistake. Victor Frankenstein was a man, while Schmitt is the king of all monsters.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

                Charles can feel the woman digging at his defences, trying to find a way in. It's a more offensive use of telepathy and the best Charles can do is hammer up the highest walls he can to keep her out. The thought of the damage she could do if she got inside makes him shudder.

                The soldiers on the boats stand little chance against the waterspout sent at them, and Charles can feel Moira about to give to order to turn around and leave before they all get killed, when he sees it. Feels it beyond the diamond woman's blocks. "There's someone else out there."

                It's another mutant, if the anchor is any indication. The ship is torn to pieces and Charles gets a flash of him as the diamond walls falter. For a moment. For a moment there's light and it's like Charles has remembered how to breathe for the first time in twenty years _rageblindragefurydespairnonononotgettingawayallthistime_. It drives Charles against the railing, then he's up and running, shouting something incoherent and almost knocking Raven over before dragging his coat off and jumping into the water where the submarine's already passing under the ship.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                It's slipping away. Twenty years, twenty years of work. His powers leaving grooves in the shell of the submarine, but nothing else. It drags him underwater for a moment, and Erik snatches another breath before being pulled under.

                He can feel it, and he'd scream denial because it won't stop. Everything he has, twenty years pent up hate and despair and rage and _it's not enough_. He failed to protect his mother, the boy who'd been his, everyone. Everything. He can't even avenge them. The submarine is too big to raise, the propeller to distant to tear out.

                He's vaguely aware of a splash, the sound distorted underwater. His lungs are burning and he's being pulled further and further from shore. _I will not fail, I will not give up_ -

                Then warm arms come up around him, and-

                _Calm your mind_

                Erik gives a cry that come out in bubbles, the warmth in his mind, winding around him over and over as it had a thousand times when he was a child, in his home, in the ghetto in the camp. the submarine slips away and Erik wonders if this is the end, if this is some hallucination brought on by drowning-

                He draws in a breath, and the salt water burns his throat. He thrashes, kicks out and is pushed up. _Calm, please_. The voice is just as warm, with a hint of tears. Erik coughs, and more bubbles escape. _Oh, my own_. The voice is tears and laughter. _Please don't drown._

 

                Erik's head breaks the surface, and he coughs again, dragging in a breath and retching up sea water. The voice, the presence, the... the... him. He's behind Erik, holding him around the waist and keeping him above water.

 

                _I've got you_. "I've got you." A choked noise, a hand comes up to touch Erik's cheek. "I've got you." A sob.

 

                Erik pushes away, turns. The boy - the man, a man his age. With dark hair hanging around his face and eyes that shine blue even in the darkness, face wet with saltwater and tears, hands coming up to cup Erik's face.

 

                "I-" Erik can't even manage that, his starved hands reaching out and grasping wet clothes. _I thought you were dead_.

 

                The man - _Charles, I'm Charles-_ gives a choked cry and then everything is confused, hands and bodies and minds and seawater as they hang onto each other as closely as possible without drowning. Tangle in each others' minds as far as they can reach. Erik's face is pressed Charles' soaked shirt, he gives a soft cry, holding.

 

                _Never let go_. He has no idea who thought it, it doesn't even occur to him to ask how they're speaking like this. _Never. Not again._

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

                Somehow they stay afloat long enough for one of the lifeboats to reach them. Everything is dizzy and incoherent as they're pulled aboard the ship and given blankets. Erik looks at his for a moment, eyes wide and slightly crazed, before wrapping himself in it and helping Charles with his. His hands are trembling slightly, he's shaking all over in shock and Charles is no better. He's pulled in against Erik and everything is wild explosive warmth as though the twenty years worth had just been stored up and were now piling in on them both.

 

                Charles closes his eyes and buries his face in the side of Erik's neck. _Calm_. The eye of the storm. Still. Freeze this moment forever. This is the best moment of your life. Erik hears it, and he manages something like a laugh, _No, better, always better from this moment. Never fear again, I will protect you. Never be alone again, I will be there for you. Never want for anything again, beautiful. My own._

Words can't do this justice, Charles opens his mind lets Erik see, the gloomy childhood with he and Raven the only points of light, the great, world tearing loss of the bond, the hospital. The twenty long, empty years. It pours back, open, half afraid, knowing it has to be now or he will never be able to do it. Flashes of early years, a family, torn apart, everything stripped away until Erik was completely alone, the driving rage to destroy the man who'd destroyed him. Wild joy so intense Erik didn't know how to control it. You. You. I thought you were dead. I would have mourned you forever.

 

                Charles' head is pulled up and Erik kisses him so hard it almost hurts. _We will-_ the thought fragments, twenty years is a long time, too long to be crossed so suddenly. _But we will_. Erik insists, his resolve is all warm metal, like the rest of him. Charles wants to curl up around him and go to sleep. _It's okay_. He answers, pressing closer. There's no such things as close enough. _Everything's going to be fine_.

 

                He feels Erik's mind break away, going back to the sea and the submarine. Charles breaks the kiss, cupping his face with both hands. "Don't, not of him." _He can't hide forever, he'll be found and stopped and I will be there with you every step of the way._ "Not now."

 

                Erik nods, and though he's still shaking slightly, he smiles, just a quirk of the lips Charles knows is going to become very familiar. His fingers trace out Charles' cheekbones and chin, over his eyes and slightly swollen lips, a shuddered breath as warmth turns to burning and want so long untouched, and Erik closes the space again, Charles's hands knotting in his hair. He's crying again, or maybe he hadn't stopped and is only just noticing.

 

                "Charles?"

 

                They pull back, Erik bristles for a moment before recognising Raven from Charles' memories. Raven is staring at them, eyes wide. She's not stupid, and Charles can see her face light up. He gives her a helpless, broken, unbearably happy grin and she shrieks and looks about to hug them both before backing away at Erik's alarmed expression. She's broadcasting happiness so loudly Charles can't understand why no one else is picking up on it. She backs up a step. "Later." She points at them. "Absolutely later."

 

                "Absolutely." Charles manages.

 

                "Your sister is insane." Erik's voice is still hoarse from inhaling seawater, his accent a soft hint.

 

                Charles just grins at him, too insanely happy to speak, either out loud or in their own heads. Erik smiles back, that same quirk, then leans in. A kiss on his lips, on his forehead, on each closed eye, and Charles is tucked away in Erik's arm, head under chin, one hand rubbing his back through the blanket and layers of wet clothes.

 

                _You didn't even stop to take them off?_ Slightly amused, slightly scolding. It feels so good it almost hurts.

 

                "I wasn't going to lose you go again." Chares murmurs, eyes starting to drift closed.

**Author's Note:**

> The Sequel: Wars or Hands of Time, is here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/241560


End file.
